


Gentleman Houseguest

by PhrancesP



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4065007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhrancesP/pseuds/PhrancesP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Robinson accepts Miss Fisher's kind invitation, and anticipates a magical evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentleman Houseguest

**Author's Note:**

> This is the background that I have imagined might have happened before Episode 1, Season 3 of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. Thanks to Kerry Greenwood for creating Phryne Fisher, and thanks to MFMM for inviting Jack Robinson over for supper, at long last.

Gentleman Houseguest  
By PhrancesP

This is the background that I have imagined might have happened before Episode 1, Season 3 of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. Thanks to Kerry Greenwood for creating Phryne Fisher, and thanks to MFMM for inviting Jack Robinson over for supper, at long last.

It had been another long day at the City South police station, and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was relieved to return to his quiet house as twilight began to fall. Although the most recent murders at the chalet had been out of his jurisdiction, he had spent most of the day writing reports and confirming details over the telephone. He still had a bit of a headache from drinking too many festive cocktails at Miss Fisher’s holiday party the night before. As he took off his hat and overcoat he spied the cream-colored envelope tucked inside the coat pocket. It had been delivered to “Jack Robinson” at the police station address. He knew that it was from Phryne, and he smiled at the thought that the estimable lady detective had not been able to pry his home address from an unsuspecting constable at the station. 

Alone in his entryway, he raised the envelope to his nose. French perfume. He would know it anywhere. He drew out the card. Written in elegant calligraphy, it read, “The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher requests the pleasure of your company…” It was an invitation to dine. No murder investigation, this time. Just supper. Jack moved towards the sideboard in his small dining room and poured himself a small whiskey. He took it with him as he walked to the secretary desk next to the cold fireplace. He sat down and pulled out an ancient box of engraved stationery. It had been a gift from Rosie in earlier days, when she had hopes for their success in Melbourne society. He wrote, “Mr. Robinson accepts your kind invitation…”

The next day was busy, but Jack was aware of feeling lighter across his shoulders. He engaged in the constables’ banter when he entered the station and crossed to his office. Hugh Collins thought he heard a whistle coming from Jack’s office, but he didn’t dare comment on it when he delivered files to his boss. Jack was efficient and effective at work. He capped off a good day by eating at Strano’s, his favorite Italian restaurant. Before he retired for the night Jack looked over his wardrobe. He had a new tie, a Christmas in July gift from Mrs. Stanley, who had been grateful for his presence at the chalet during those dreadful days and nights. Jack wondered if Phryne had had a hand in selecting the tie. It coordinated well with most of his suits, and he doubted that Mrs. Stanley had such a specific eye for details.

In contrast to the previous day, the day of the dinner engagement went at a snail’s pace. Jack left the station at midday in order to buy a bouquet of flowers for Phryne. He selected purple irises, thinking of the bold, elegant colors of her home. The flowers stayed fresh in a bucket that Hugh had found in a closet at the station. Jack didn’t explain, but he suspected that Hugh’s fiancee, Miss Dorothy Williams, would have already alerted Hugh to Miss Fisher’s plans for the evening. Hugh had chatted on amiably as he filled the bucket. Miss Fisher was sending Dot to the Mackenzie magic show, with the loyal cab-driving duo of Cec and Burt for protection. Hugh had already heard much from his Dottie about the magic show. There would be a contortionist, a sword swallower, lyrical dancers… 

Jack had stopped listening. He had focused in on the fact that supper with Miss Fisher was going to be a very private affair indeed. He closed the door to his office and took a deep breath. It was really going to happen. He had to cross this bridge, leaving behind his doubts about Phryne and his fears about her power over his heart. He gazed at his image in the reflection in his office door. Automatically he adjusted his tie. His hands stilled as he remembered Phryne loosening his tie at the masquerade ball. Phryne, again, as she stepped between his legs to place his tie around his neck, his head bent down towards her heart. 

Hours later Jack capped his fountain pen and closed the last folder on his desk. He had surprised himself with his focus and drive during the afternoon. Miss Fisher had requested the pleasure of his company, and he was ready. He brought the files out to Hugh and wished him a good evening over his shoulder, already eager to don his coat and hat. He heard the telephone ring, and Hugh’s voice, quietly. “It’s for you, sir. Miss Fisher.”

Jack put down the receiver. He was stunned. An unexpected guest, she had told him. Rage surged through him and he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Why would she be so secretive, so coy? It had to be a man. She was not going to change. Why had he hoped? She had told him so, after he had thought her dead behind the wheel of her outrageous automobile. He had been a fool. He slammed the door of his office and sank into his desk chair. Now what? Another night at Strano’s, he supposed. Concetta would be glad to see him walk in the door. She would bring him his favorite wine and sit with him for a while, until she became busy with another patron. 

He pushed the chair back, determined now to salvage his evening. As he walked out to the station desk with his hat in his hands, the telephone rang again. Hugh had been about to say something kind, Jack knew, but the telephone was insistent and loud in the quiet room. “Dottie!” Hugh sputtered. “Slow down! A head chopped off like a melon? Are you hurt? You’re with Cec and Burt? That’s my girl. We’re on our way.”

Jack’s shoulders straightened. Another murder investigation. He was needed, urgently.


End file.
